


The Buried Ones

by weatheredlaw



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Archaeology, F/M, M/M, Murder Mystery, POV Alternating, Period-Typical Sexism, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-05-12 04:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5652271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>A Harrowing Tale of Mystery and Suspense!</i> — Cassandra Pentaghast, scorned archeologist, has just been offered the find of a lifetime from Dorian Pavus, who agrees to sponsor her for the summer as she excavates a site long shrouded in mystery. She soon discovers that her long-time academic rival, Varric Tethras, has also been hired to work alongside her. Though their relationship is fraught with tension, it is nothing compared to the danger that awaits them once they begin to uncover lost secrets from the ancient Tevinter Imperium.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Pavus Estate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [enigmaticagentscully](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticagentscully/gifts).



> I blame the _Amelia Peabody_ novels, and I dedicate this to my fellow fan of the series, Alice, who is an enabler and should not be trusted. As I said in the tags, be aware of POV changes, as this alternates between Cassandra's perspective and a few alternative methods of storytelling. I hope you enjoy!

“I will tell you a little secret about archaeologists, dear Reader. They all pretend to be very high-minded. They claim that their sole aim in excavation is to uncover the mysteries of the past and add to the store of human knowledge. They lie. What they really want is a spectacular discovery, so they can get their names in the newspapers and inspire envy and hatred in the hearts of their rivals.”

― Amelia Peabody, _The Deeds of the Disturber_ , by Elizabeth Peters

 

* * *

 

The cool air that had followed Cassandra from her home in Nevarra to the estate of one Dorian Pavus had not lingered. In truth, it had entirely dissipated, and, when she stepped off the train at the station, the wave of heat that washed over her took her completely by surprise – and quite literally, too. A summer wind whipped through the station, blowing her wide-brimmed traveling hat right off her head, sending to rolling down the walkway.

“Oh, Maker take it all—” She scrambled for her things, but without reason. The moment she stepped forward for the thing, a man leaned down, lifted the hat into his hands, and presented it to her with a smile.

He was handsome, of course, with a primly trimmed mustache, a tailored suit, and an elegant, cream colored hat of his own. His smile was absolutely electric.

“Dr. Pentaghast, I presume?” he said, placing the hat in Cassandra’s hands with great care.

“You presume correctly. You are Dorian Pavus?”

“Indeed. I’ve sent someone down the train for your luggage. It will arrive just after we do. Walk with me? I’ve parked the car just in front of the station.” He offered her his arm. Cassandra smiled, shouldered her bag of personal belongings before righting her hat and allowing him to escort her. “I’m _terribly_ excited that you’re here,” he said. “It’s a pity the season took a turn for the warm.”

“It is cooler than this, usually?”

“Oh, yes. Quite. Nearly ten degrees, most summers. Certainly not cool, by any means, but sweltering? I’ve had to be fitted for an entirely new wardrobe.” He looked around. “Where are your men?”

Cassandra smiled. “They will arrive at the end of the week. I left them prematurely to clean up our last job and take a bit of time for themselves. Your last letter indicated you’d prefer we didn’t start working until next Tuesday, I believe?”

Dorian nodded, opening the passenger side of the car and taking her bag from her, setting it gently down in the back. It was a lovely thing – the top was down and the color matched nearly everything Dorian was wearing. Cassandra expected it was purposeful. “Yes,” he said. “It wasn’t my intention to sound so mysterious.” He settled into his own seat and paused. “Well, maybe it was. I’ve a bit of a surprise for you, at the end of the week. I’d like you to make use of my home and my resources, do any research. Obviously you will be allowed to inspect the site, but I would prefer the digging not begin until next week.” The car started with an elegant purr, and Cassandra buckled in and put a hand on her hat as Dorian sped away from the curb with all the grace and class one could expect.

 

* * *

 

The Pavus estate was, for lack of a better word, _grand_. Cassandra stood in front of it for a moment, having believed all her life that the largest homes were seated along the greatest avenues in Val Royeux, where she had been educated and trained by the finest scholars in archaeology of her time. She had dined in several of those homes, many owned by people who had either inherited their wealth or come by it through hard work and determination – legally or illegally hardly seemed to matter.

Dorian’s home was something else entirely. The road leading up to it was lined with drooping willows that whipped at them as they passed. Roses lay underneath and, in the distance, Cassandra saw a small army of gardeners working diligently next to an enormous fountain. Stopping in front of the house, Cassandra paused to catch her breath before taking it all in.

“Is it—”

“Four stories? Yes. Five if you include the cellar. Come, I’ll show you to your wing.”

“My…wing?”

Dorian laughed. “You didn’t think we’d be _bunking_ , did you Dr. Pentaghast?”

Cassandra flushed and scrambled for her bag, clambering out of the car after him. “It is too much, Mr. Pavus—”

“It isn’t,” he said. “And it’s Dorian.”

She smiled. “Then it is Cassandra, if you please.”

Dorian grinned. “I’ll try, but I make no promises. I do _love_ titles. Follow me, then.” He pushed open the door and led her inside. Cassandra walked behind him, in awe of the paintings and pottery on display, some behind and under glass, as though in a museum. Her heart raced as they climbed the stairs, eager to see where she would be residing for the rest of the summer. Dorian unlocked a set of double doors, and brought her into the eastern wing of the estate. “Your home, my dear.”

“ _Maker_ ,” she breathed.

“Yes,” Dorian agreed. “It _is_ impressive, isn’t it? I had hoped the renovations would be done before you arrived, but they are still doing some of the sconces in the library and the crown molding in the tea room. Should be finished by the time you start your dig, not to worry.”

“The tea room,” she murmured, shaking her head. “Does it happen to come with a _sleeping_ room as well?”

“I’m so very glad you asked.” He took a right and came upon another set of double doors, giving them a gentle shove. “I hope it suits you, my dear. I spared absolutely no expense.”

Cassandra stepped into the bedroom and nearly moaned with happiness. A great bed sat in the middle, shrouded by thick, heavy drapes to keep out the light of the sun in the early morning. A fireplace, unused, was richly decorated with pots, and a great painting of Andraste hung over it. In its own room sat a deep marble tub with stairs leading up to it, and most likely a hundred or more types of soaps, salts, and perfumes ready for her.

“Oh, _Dorian_ , I—”

He raised a hand. “Say nothing, Cassandra. You are doing me a great service this summer. It would be dishonorable not to accommodate you in every way possible.” He turned and smiled. “Ah! Your luggage has arrived. Perhaps you’d like to freshen up after your journey? Explore the house? I’ve some business to attend to for an hour or so, and then we’ll have a meal in the garden.” He reached for the handles of the door. “Take as long as you’d like,” he added. “We’ve all the time in the world until next week.”

 

* * *

 

As Cassandra slid into the _decadent_ marble tub, enveloping herself in the scent of lavender salts, mixed with a just a hint of rose oil, she considered precisely how she had come to be in Dorian Pavus’s employment.

It had been over a year ago when she’d made her first big discovery on her own. Certainly before then she had been on many number of digs – many did not consider archaeology, or even history, to be a fitting occupation for a woman. Indeed, Cassandra found herself usually isolated when she was in the field. Everyone from the sponsor to the water supplier was a man or boy, and Cassandra often slept and ate completely alone. It was not unwelcome – she enjoyed her solitude, particularly when there was a great deal of work to be done. But it became frustrating and infuriating when the time for credit and spectatorship came due. She had not been credited for more than a handful of small, insignificant finds which, in truth, were only a fraction of a larger discovery that she had _more_ than played an important role in making. She was _good_ at what she did –

But there wasn’t a soul in Val Royeux who seemed willing to give her the chance to prove it.

She’d secured a solo dig last fall in the Emerald Graves, and made a significant finds in regards to elven sigils and ruins. The subsequent paper and talks that had followed had made her a desired figure in the field, and she’d turned down three offers in favor of Dorian’s when the time had finally come.

With a satisfied sigh, she sunk lower into the water and made herself comfortable, drifting off for only a bit, until the pads of her fingers had wrinkled and she stepped out into the cool air of her room to dress.

It was only a few minutes after changing that a servant appeared at her door with a cup of tea and instructions to put away her clothes.

“Oh! Well…thank you, of course. I’m certainly capable of putting my own things—”

“S’not about capability, ma’am.” The girl smiled and began unlocking her bags. “It’s my job, I’d be happy to do it. Would you like any of the garments cleaned or ironed?”

“Hmm?” Cassandra stirred honey into her tea and shook her head. “No, my dear. Though if there is someone who might clean and shine my work boots, they are in need of a bit of attention.”

The girl nodded and lifted the boots for inspection. “They need repairing, too. Would you like Ser Pavus to order you a new pair?”

Cassandra shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. They are good boots. Lucky ones, in some ways.”

“Oh? Have they saved your life?”

Cassandra smiled. “Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “I suppose they have.” She sighed and lifted the cup of tea in her hands. “I’ll explore for a bit, I think.”

“Would you like someone to accompany you?”

“No, my dear. I’ll be quite alright on my own.”

“Of course, ma’am. I’ll have this done in a flash.”

Cassandra nodded before pausing at the door. “What is your name, then? Will you be here often?”

“It’s Ellana,” she said. “And I will be, yes. If you’re comfortable with that.”

“I won’t stop you from doing your work.”

“I appreciate that, ma’am. Enjoy your walk.”

 

* * *

 

For the first two days, Cassandra did not see much of Dorian. She was given notes and messages from him, delivered by Ellana, and told to make herself comfortable and enjoy the sights. The morning of the third day, she was escorted to the stables and given the mare she would ride to and from the dig site. They spent an hour together, exploring the hills and testing the road they would be traveling daily before returning. As Cassandra walked up the hill behind the house to the garden, she was met by Dorian and his usual shining demeanor.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Quite. She is a lovely horse.”

“Good! I’m very happy to hear that. Let’s have lunch together, I know I’ve been a wretched host for the last few days.”

“On the contrary.” Cassandra sat in the chair he pulled out for her at the table and smiled. “I have never bathed so splendidly in my life.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Pork, for lunch? There’s a farm just a few miles up the road that sells me the most exquisite meats and vegetables. I promise, it will be a treat.”

“I trust you.”

“Good,” he said. “That’s…that’s quite important.” He typical spark faded for a moment, but he gathered himself up and set about smiling again. Cassandra felt the moment pass, but it was poignant all the same. “Anyhow, I trust you’re excited about starting next week.”

“I am. I had a few more questions for you. I saw the site again this morning, but I did wonder.” She paused as a servant brought her a glass of wine. “It’s very…large. And so close by. It was in your family?”

“That meadow in particular, yes. No one ever thought of building it up. I was always told as a boy that it was special, very sacred to the Pavus household, and not to be disturbed.”

Cassandra frowned. “Then why dig it up?”

“Because of those instructions precisely.” He took a healthy sip of his wine. “My father was quite adamant that it never be touched. As a boy I found a shard of pottery there, and he told me that there had once been buildings belonging to the Tevinter Imperium here, but that it was sacred and important and blah blah.” He shook his head. “Nonsense, really. But he died well before my mother did, and she wouldn’t hear of touching it. Honestly, I think they were all worried we’d dig up some _secret._ No one knows the true history of the Imperium, or what they did.”

“You don’t think so?”

“I know so. The history of my people has been fabricated from the moment the Imperium disappeared. Now all that’s left is a nation with borders and a rotting legacy. I don’t believe much of it. My readings always feigned far too much innocence for my taste.”

“So you believe there are ruins.”

“I don’t believe. I told you in our correspondence. I _know_. Cassandra, there are things under this earth. I found some, when I dug out the wine cellar six years ago. Mother was furious, she forbade be from finishing it, but then she wintered with her sister further north and I got the whole thing done and cleared before she got back. Didn’t complain about it, though. Not after it was full of wine,” he muttered. Cassandra cleared her throat. “Yes, sorry, where was I? Ah, yes. In the cellar I found a skeleton, dressed in what a scholar told me were ancient Imperium burial clothes. He was buried with his cat, of all things, and several gold artifacts. I sold some to a museum, gave the skeleton a proper burning, and had the clothes and remaining things preserved. I’ll show them to you later.”

“Maker.” Cassandra felt flushed and lightheaded, presumably from the wine, but _still._ “This is…this is a wonderful opportunity. I had not realized the breadth and scope of possibilities, not from your letters alone.”

“I know,” Dorian said, almost gleefully. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it? I wanted some of it to be a surprise.” He leaned back as someone brought their salads and refilled their glasses. “There is…one small thing. I didn’t mention it in the letters, I didn’t want it to influence your decision.” He sighed. “There is…another who will be arriving, within the week.”

Cassandra frowned. “Another archaeologist?”

“Yes. I thought if you knew you’d be sharing the space you might not be so inclined to come. At the time I had no qualms with the matter, but I do feel…guilty, bringing you here under false pretenses. It _is_ rather a large site, though, you’ll admit—”

Cassandra held up a hand. “We can sort through your guilt later. I will…sort through my own feelings later as well. But I won’t be leaving, if that is what troubles you.”

“It…does, frankly.”

“It shouldn’t. I am here, I have committed. While I’m not pleased, I can understand your motivations, to an extent. Though will ask _now_ that you be completely honest with me, for the rest of this endeavor.”

“Of course.”

She sighed. “Well, who is he?”

“You assume it’s a man?”

“In this business, I always do.”

Dorian chuckled. “But of course. Perhaps you know him? He’s from the Marches. A dwarf, actually. Studied at the university in Kirkwall.”

Cassandra felt her face flush, and certainly not from the wine.

“You’ve hired Varric Tethras, haven’t you?”

“Actually I have. Do you know him? He’s quite reputable, from what I understand.”

Cassandra nodded. “We…have met.”

Dorian raised a brow. “You haven’t let that scruffy rogue _woo_ you, have you my dear?”

“Oh, Maker, _no._ Quite the opposite, actually. We…disagree on many things. Most things, actually. We…are not allowed to attend the same conferences.”

“Oh my. That’s quite a development. Have I made a mistake?”

“No,” she said quickly. “Varric is, despite his faults, a professional in the field. And a gentleman, when it comes to credit. _Quite_ the gentleman, actually.”

“Well, good. I shouldn’t like you to see this as an opportunity to lose any of the good reputation you’ve garnered over the past year. Frankly, the site is enormous, and I thought two teams would be far more efficient and productive than one.”

“I understand why you might think that, but do not let it surprise you if we move slower than expected.”

Dorian smiled. “You’re the expert. I’ll take your word for it.”

Cassandra sighed, leaning back to finally enjoy the start of her meal. She could not hold it against Dorian for wanting his land excavated quickly and, presumably, quietly. And she could not blame him for his hesitance in telling her that he’d hired another to work the site. In all, Cassandra decided that it was for the best that she and Varric put some effort into their working relationship. He was hardly older that she, and they would be in the field together for some time. Perhaps if the dig went well, Dorian could vouch for them, and lift their collective ban.

It was a far-off idea, but an appealing one. She did not like that bit of storm cloud that hung over her reputation. To have a long-standing feud with another in her field was immature, irresponsible, and, frankly, _stupid._ She went to bed that night with a far more positive attitude than she’d lunched with, and woke up in the morning having decided to put a positive spin on the whole ordeal. She and Varric would walk away from this as respected colleagues and, perhaps, even friends.

Her crew arrived the same day he did, that Sunday before the week they were set to begin. Cassandra stood with her people behind her – the formidable Iron Bull and his band of sometimes mercenaries, sometimes amateur archaeologists. Dorian had gone to the station an hour before to retrieve Varric, but he was coming back with not only the dwarf in question, but an entire truckload of people and tools behind him. Cassandra saw Varric’s tell-tale hat and obscenely patterned handkerchief knotted around his neck.

Bull leaned down and murmured, “Been a while since you’ve seen him, eh boss?”

“I have not forgotten the details of my last encounter with Dr. Tethras, if that is what you are wondering.”

“Oh, I don’t think anyone has,” the qunari said, and straightened again.

Cassandra closed her eyes for a moment, and remembered the encounter in question – she had been looking for documents regarding ancient lyrium deposits written by Varric’s close friend, Dr. Hawke, who had vanished on a dig some months prior. Varric had been guarding Hawke’s research fiercely, and any and all requests to view it had been vehemently rejected. It had not been her first row with the dwarf, but it had certainly been their worst.

Varric had called her a neglectful, obsessive harpy, and Cassandra had called him, in no uncertain terms, a thief.

Neither accusation had been true, but each stung like nothing else could. She’d been ejected from his residence in Val Royeux without any dignity, and had not spoken nor written to him since.

Seeing him there, his hair whipping under his hat in the wind as he and Dorian laughed about something so far away from her, Cassandra felt her heart sink. It was going to be as it always was, she realized. She would be shut out, if she did not establish her place at the very start, and Varric, like so many men she’d worked with before, would scoop the glory and rewards from the guts of their dig and leave her with nothing.

Blind, unwelcome fury coursed through her. Bull put a hand on her shoulder.

“You are going to get everything you want from this,” he said quietly. “Varric’s a good man. He won’t pull the rug out from under you.”

“Yes, but can we trust Dorian? He’s already lied to us once.”

Bull sighed. “Bit late for that now, isn’t it?”

Cassandra worried her bottom lip and watched the car pull into the drive. “Yes,” she murmured. “I suppose it is.”


	2. Regarding the Behavior of Dr. Cassandra Pentaghast

[The following is a letter dated some months prior to the arrival of one Cassandra Pentaghast at the estate belonging to Dorian Pavus.]

_A letter from the desk of Professor R. A. Teagan, President of the Ferelden  
Society for the Pursuit of Archaelogical Discovery and Education_

 

To Prof. A. D. Marseille  
12124 N. Bouffant Ave  
Val Royeux, Orlais

 

Dear Dr. Marseille:

I am sure that it has come to your attention that we currently have on our hands a rather embarrassing set of circumstances. While one might expect such behavior from a woman, I find myself rather disappointed in the emotional outbursts of one Varric Tethras. You were likely not present at the conference in Kirkwall – it has grown in esteem and popularity over the years, and was only made more popular this time around by the recent disappearance of Dr. Garrett Hawke. I am certain you know of him. His research into lyrium has fundamentally changed the way we think of and consider the Deep Roads and the thaigs that lead to it. His absence is quite a loss, felt most I believe by his closest friends and colleagues, Dr. Tethras included.

You may not know much of Cassandra Pentaghast – she is a vibrant woman with a near-detrimental desire to prove herself. I understand she was educated in Val Royeux, but not much else beyond that. She has made no significant finds and has only been credited nominally on a handful of discoveries, though she submitted several complaints last year to both the Orlesian and Ferelden panels of credit validation, claiming she did more work than what she was paid for. Again, quite typical.

Recently she and Dr. Tethras have become something of rivals, from what I understand, but I did not know that it was true until I saw their ludicrous behavior just last month in Kirkwall. And from what I understand, they brought it only recently to your own city. Dr. Pentaghast is determined to acquire Hawke’s research, which was left in the care of Dr. Tethras, but I have heard he allows no one to see it.

Dr. Pentaghast has been banned from the Kirkwall conference, and I would suggest that you not allow them to attend the same events until the matter can be resolved calmly and professionally. With woman in the field, one never knows how these things might turn out. I am terribly sorry that this has happened. I understand we ourselves have had our differences, but I know that this sort of behavior is hardly tolerated by either side. It was my mistake in not banning her sooner, and I would like to offer up any and all assistance I may in keeping Dr. Pentaghast appropriately subdued.

                                                                                Sincerely,  
                                                                                                Dr. R. A. Teagan


	3. The Thieves in the Night

Cassandra could never say that Varric Tethras was hardly a gentleman. It was true that he had thrown her from his home in Orlais that terrible fall afternoon, and, yes, it was also true that he had been known to call her any number of insults, no matter if she was in earshot or not. But, as he climbed the steps leading to Dorian’s estate, he removed his hat, took her hand in his, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Good to see you, Pentaghast.”

Cassandra was taken aback. She had expected calculated chivalry at best, but this was something else entirely. Her ancient Nevarran mannerisms took over for the briefest of moments, and she bowed her head demurely and thanked him. “Are you well then, Dr. Tethras?”

“Quite. Glad to be done with that lie of a spring we had back home.”

“Yes,” Dorian drawled. “You only complained about snow in March seventeen times on the drive over. Shall we go in? Rislan has prepared a delightful meal.”

Rislan was Dorian’s head butler, and an excellent model for anyone hoping to break into the field. He was not an elf, as many of the other servants were, but a dwarf – and a rather slim one at that. Cassandra’s first mistake in meeting him was believing that he was simply a shorter human. He took her to her chair first and poured her a generous glass of wine with a soft smile.

The crews had declined to join them, as was usually customary. Cassandra didn’t recognize any of Varric’s men as they had descended from the truck just a few moments earlier, and told him so.

“They’re new,” he said gruffly. “Old crew’s scattered. Looking for Hawke.”

“Oh. I’m…I’m terribly sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s worth it. We’ll find him before the year’s out, that I’m sure of.”

Dorian leaned forward. “You were fairly hesitant to take me up on the offer. Are you concerned he’ll be found without your assistance?”

Varric shook his head. “I need the money to keep looking for him, frankly. After we finish this, I’m chartering a ship up north. I’ve had some letters telling me he’s been spotted up there. I sent Rivaini in last month, but her little ship couldn’t weather the storms. They’re near constant. I need something hearty, something that I can explore with.” He shrugged. “Probably just buy the damn thing, honestly.”

“Well, I’m only too happy to be of some help with regards to all that.” Dorian drained his glass as their meals were placed in front of them. “It’s a tragedy.”

“You say he is north?” Cassandra asked.

“Something like that. We’ll sort it out. Let’s talk about this meadow, Pavus.” The conversation turned to the site, and Cassandra found her mind wandering. She had always thought Hawke’s disappearance was a strange one, and whenever it was brought up in conversation with any of her peers, she found herself asking more and more questions, largely to herself. She was certain there was something to be found in those _papers_ , but Varric guarded them like children. Perhaps now, since they were officially working together, he would allow her to look at them, supervised of course.

“—and we’ll be ready by Tuesday morning. Anything to add, Cassandra?”

“Hmm?” She looked up and found the two men watching her. She sighed. “No, nothing really. I am only happy to have work, in spite of the heat.”

Varric grunted. “That’s another thing. We need water, and tents. Plenty of it. I won’t have my men or hers collapsing because of _heat_ exhaustion. That’s for amateurs, which we are not.”

“Did you just pay me a compliment?” Cassandra asked without thought.

Varric looked at her. “I tried. As is typical, you’ve taken the moment and completely destroyed it.”

“It was merely a question, Varric.”

“Nothing is every _merely_ anything with you.” He took a hearty forkful of food and shoved it into his mouth, speaking now around it. “Don’t let her fool you, Pavus. She’s as much a snake in the grass as any of the rest of us. More so, perhaps.”

“There is no need for name-calling,” Cassandra said quickly. “It was not my intent to insult you, and I am sorry if I have.”

“Oh, an _apology._ Let’s test and see how hollow and _false_ it is, shall we?”

Cassandra stood quickly. “I am going to check on my men.”

Dorian sputtered. “Your food—”

Cassandra picked up her plate and a bottle of wine. “I will dine out, this afternoon.” With a quick turn, she marched through the double doors leading to the back of the estate and strode toward the two crews of men.

She spent the remainder of the evening planning the placement of tents and picking at her food.

 

* * *

 

It was late when a knock came at her door. Cassandra sat at the dark wooden writing desk that Dorian had put in the room, going over notes for the paper she would publish after she returned from this trip. “Come in,” she called, and continued looking at her work.

Her visitor sighed. “Have I made a mistake?”

Cassandra looked up and found Dorian, looking a bit more haggard than she’d seem him before. She stood and led him to the tea room, pouring them both a healthy glass of bourbon before taking a seat. “No,” she said quietly. “I am…impudent, according to my teachers. I lash out without thought. I do not think before I speak, and so I make for a rather poor example for the women in my field.”

“I disagree.”

“You shouldn’t. My behavior this afternoon was uncalled for. I simply burn, from both ends. It is my curse to bear.”

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

“Varric?” Dorian nodded. “I suppose so. He does get at a certain part of me. I cannot often control my temper around him, but other times we are perfectly matched. When I told you we disagreed on nearly everything, that was not completely true. Varric and I have often researched many of the same things, coming to near identical conclusions. We had a…minor falling out in Kirkwall over one of these things, just over a year ago.”

“Oh?”

Cassandra sighed. “I have not been able to find my niche, not like Varric has. He studies ancient writings and languages, for the most part. I have tended to focus on anything I can get my hands into, but it has proven to be…difficult. Not many will take me seriously without a specialty. I suppose you could say I have a knack for getting into trouble more so than anything else. Before I was in the Emerald Graves, I did work on dragons in the Western Approach. Varric was there as well. It turned out we were both looking for the same documents, but I had found them first. In an act of goodwill, I gave them to him, once I had finished with them. He wrote a paper after I did. He published it after I did.”

Dorian sighed. “I think I see where this is going.”

Cassandra nodded. “I was angry, in Kirkwall. They had asked him to give the talk, to speak as if the credit for finding the documents was _his._ I…made a scene. I am not proud of it.”

“You wanted what was owed to you.”

She laughed. “I’ve found as a woman in this field that I am often the one who owes everyone else. For educating me, for housing me, for allowing me to accompany them. Nothing is my own. Nothing was ever my own before the Graves.”

“Not even this,” Dorian said quietly.

“Please don’t think that. I am…happy to share, honestly. My reputation has been tarnished by my own behavior. To rise above it would be a great feat. I _can_ do it. I _will._ ” She sighed. “I am not sure he feels the same way, but Varric and I must repair the damage we have wrought. We cannot continue like this.”

“So I’m doing you a favor.” Dorian’s expression brightened. “I do so love rescuing tattered reputations. Perhaps you’ll even figure out that it’s all just love, disguised as distaste.”

Cassandra raised a brow. “That is doubtful.”

Dorian shrugged. “The decision is yours, my dear. Well, I’ll leave you be. Please, though, for the sake of us all—” He put a hand on her shoulder. “The two of you must sort this out. Tomorrow is your last day of freedom before the big day. Why don’t you spend it together?”

Cassandra sighed. “Perhaps,” she said, and watched him go.

 

* * *

 

Dorian had been entirely serious about forcing the two to spend the day with one another. Come morning, Cassandra bathed, dressed, and was promptly informed by Ellana that Dorian had gone into the city for the day, and was not expected back until dinner.

“He said you should take your breakfast in the garden by the stables.”

“Yes, I’m sure he did,” she said, and pulled on her boots before heading down the stairs.

She was met by Varric under the shade of one of the larger willows on the property. He sat, reclined against the base of the tree, reading a book, but he stopped as she approached and took off his hat to greet her. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” he said quickly.

“As am I.”

“Good. Can we eat, then? I’m starving.” He offered her his arm and she took it, walking slowly toward the stables. A small table with a meal of fruit, breads and some meats sat waiting for them, and Cassandra enjoyed a glass of champagne and juice as the heat began to swell.

“Too damn hot to dig,” Varric muttered, mopping his face with his handkerchief. “I think we should wait, come back in the fall.”

“I suggested it. Dorian says it will be far too chilly then.”

“Of course it will be.” Varric sighed. “We’ve got to sort this out, Pentagast. We can't live at each other’s throats.”

“Did you know,” she said quickly, “that Dr. Teagan wrote a letter about me?”

“He did?”

“Yes. To my old professor, Dr. Marseille. A friend of mine sent a copy of the letter along. He blamed my emotions entirely for the outburst in Kirkwall. I suppose I cannot blame him. My reputation was cemented long before I came to detest you.”

“Is that how you feel?”

“Only sometimes,” she amended. “Not recently. I felt terribly guilty after you threw me out in Val Royeux.”

“I did not _throw you out._ ”

“Well you certainly didn’t do it kindly.”

“You were _demanding_ Hawke’s research!” Varric half shouted. “You threatened to file a complaint against me! It’s not mine to just dole out. Andraste’s _tits_ , Pentaghast!” He seethed for a moment. Cassandra, to her credit, did not let herself rise against him. Instead, she watched as the color faded from his cheeks, and he eventually scrubbed a tired hand over his face. “It has been…a difficult year.”

“I know.”

“I keep thinking, if I spend a little more money, if I write a few more letters…”

“I was told…Hawke is like a brother to you.”

“Felt that way. More than my own brother.”

“I am sorry, Varric.”

“Yeah, well, you and everyone else. Doesn’t seem to do much. Sentiment doesn’t go unappreciated,” he added quickly.

Cassandra sighed. “I assume you have looked over the notes he left behind?” Varric nodded. “Is there anything of interest that sticks out to you? Something that might tell you—”

“ _Boss!_ ” Cassandra stood quickly at the sound of Bull’s voice. He was running across the yard toward her, waving like a mad man.

“ _Maker_ , Bull, whatever is the matter?”

“We’ve got a problem.”

“What problem?” Varric stood.

Bull sighed. “Yours too, really. Come look. Someone’s broken into the shed on the site.” He led them across the grounds to the truck where Krem was waiting. “You go ahead. I’m gonna send a message to fancy pants in town, see if he can’t replace a few things while he’s there.”

“They’re…gone?”

“Not everything. But some important shit. Picks, shovels. Not enough to stop us, but enough to slow us down. Pavus tell you anyone might be trying to stop this dig from happening?”

Cassandra shook her head. “Of course not. Maker, I hope—” The truck took off with a  jolt as Krem sped out of the drive and took a left toward the long dirt road leading to the dig site. When they arrived, Cassandra had half a mind to lecture the man on his continued lack of driving skills, but thought better of it as they approached the shed.

“Busted that padlock right off.”

“All three of ‘em,” Krem said. “Chief locked it up tight. Those men you brought sealed the bottom, so no one could dig through. You never know with this business. Figured it was the Marcher in them.”

“Probably.”

“Anyhow, whoever it was didn’t take much. Just a few things here or there. Enough to give us a slow start, like the Chief said.”

“Dorian will get new tools,” Varric said. “But this is serious.”

“Should we have someone stationed here? Maker, should _we_ be here?”

“Maybe. Hard to say right now.” Varric circled the shed. It was large, durable, and had been locked tight. Bull could be trusted to do so. “I know your guy, he wouldn’t leave this place without knowing it was good.”

“Magic could have done it,” Krem said outloud. “Plenty of ‘Vints are mages.”

“We’d have to get a mage out here, just to check,” Varric said. “I don’t know the signs. But you’re not far off from the truth, I’d suspect.” He paused. “Is Pavus a mage?”

“He hasn’t mentioned it,” Cassandra said quietly. “I suppose it’s a possibility.”

“Find out. If he is, make him feel guilty for lying about it, get him to come out here and inspect the place. Maybe he can put up some wards.” Varric scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t like this. Gives me a bad feeling.”

“Who would want to _do_ such a thing?” Cassandra wondered aloud. “We haven’t even started.”

Varric shrugged. “Dorian mentioned his father was against it. Something about its significance to Imperium history. Could be a botched government job.”

“I suppose it is too soon to count them out entirely.” Cassandra shook her head. “We should return to the house and discuss this with Dorian. I am sure once he finds out his property has been vandalized, he will return.”

 

* * *

 

Cassandra had not been wrong. Dorian made a hasty retreat from his meeting in the city, coming back with shovels, picks, and sandbags in the back of his car, and a terrible temper.

“Someone has robbed _me?_ ” he demanded. He would not let Bull unload the supplies, instead forcing Cassandra and Varric into the cramped space of the car and following the truck back to the site. “Preposterous.”

“You’re a mage, aren’t you?” Varric asked.

Dorian raised a brow. “Many in Tevinter are. I had thought you knew.”

“You didn’t mention it.”

“Not everyone is so warm and fuzzy about magic as we are these days. Down south you still lock them away, don’t you?”

Varric chuckled. “It’s evolved, though that may surprise you.”

Dorian sighed, leaning forward and inspecting the damaged locks. “It has been broken apart with magic, if that is what you are asking. The mana here is still strong. I commend you, Qunari, for your job in securing the thing. We’ll need wards, though, if we’re to continue. Something to deter those who might steal from us in the future.” He nodded. “I’ll return tonight with what I need. Tomorrow, the site will be secure and ready. Your men may take the things from my car now,” he added, and circled the shed once more.

After everything had been replaced, Dorian drove Cassandra and Varric back to the house and forced them to share in yet another meal.

“All we do is _eat_ here,” Varric muttered, but he did not complain at the spread of bread and butter sat before him, along with a healthy glass of ale.

“I cannot begin to say how upset I am,” Dorian began. “But I will say this. If there is anyone who wishes to prevent this work, they will not succeed.”

“I’m glad you have such a positive attitude.” Varric set down his glass. “But thieves are thieves. They do what they want and take what they want. Our opinion doesn’t really matter.”

“I don’t care.” Dorian folded his arms over his chest. “I won’t allow this.” He paused, glancing at Cassandra. “You’ve been quiet, my dear. Is everything alright?”

Cassandra had been considering the future, if truth be told. She had seen her fair share of tomb robbers and grave diggers. She had fought off many who would try and undermine her work in the Emerald Graves, of course, and on other digs as well. To say she was a professional with the matter was an overstatement. But all in all, she knew what she was dealing with.

“I think that, for now, enough has been done. We’re grateful for your magic, Dorian, and the wards. I want my men and my work to be kept as safe as possible. Varric knows as well as I that when you begin doing unpleasant work, more unpleasantness tends to follow. If the discoveries we make here this summer are as damning as you say they are, then there are many who might wish to stop us.” She sighed. “We took you away from your business today. I’m terribly sorry.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Dorian said. “I was in a meeting with men my own father had little patience for. I was more than happy to receive the message. It doesn’t matter, I did the most important bit of my work.” He leaned forward with a smile. Cassandra felt suddenly suspicious. “I have wonderful news.”

“More surprises?” Varric asked dryly.

“Nonsense, you loved my surprises. This one is good, I do promise that. A wonderful friend of mine from Denerim has recently married. I believe he is also an acquaintance of yours, Varric.” At this, the dwarf perked up, now fully listening. “Cullen Rutherford and Josephine Montilyet married in the spring, I believe, but had to put off their honeymoon for family reasons. They’re traveling for the summer and fall, and I’ve invited them to stay here, for only a few weeks.”

Varric nearly _growled._ “Cullen is a philologist,” he said. “He’ll be all over those ruins an hour after arriving.”

“He won’t,” Dorian said, though he was uneasy now. “Will he?”

Cassandra sighed. “He’s quite voracious.”

“Maker, you _both_ know him.”

“Yes,” Cassandra said.“But I am unsure how you would.”

Dorian nodded. “Frankly, I know him through his wife. The Montilyets are a prominent trading family. My own has done business with them several times, but one of their sons is also an archaeologist, studied right there at home. He won a scholarship from my family’s funds three years ago, and I made my way to his dig site somewhere in the middle, became acquainted with the entire brood. Josephine is not educated in the field, but she has a background in business, and, of course, an unquenchable curiosity for the stuff. Cullen, frankly, won’t be able to handle her.”

Varric laughed. “I don’t know the woman, but you’re probably right. Still, it’s another name on the site, Pavus.”

“Yes, I know that concerns you—”

Cassandra posed a question. “You say his wife is interested in the field?”

“She is.”

“Then I will not complain. Apart from Ellana and a handful of servants, I am the only woman on the property, and the only one interested in _digging._ I should like to meet her, I think.” She took a sip of her wine, feeling Varric’s disapproving gaze on her.  

“She’s quite lovely,” Dorian said brightly.

Varric groaned. “I suppose I’ve lost this one.”

Dorian chuckled. “Oh, my friend. There was never any chance of winning. Surely you knew that?”


	4. Fifth of May, 9:41 Dragon

_The Kirkwall Museum of Natural History and Science does proudly present, for your reading pleasure, the complete, unabridged journals of Dr. Varric Tethras._

 

* * *

 

Summer Journal, Fifth of May, 9:41 Dragon

I think it was my brother who told me you can’t trust a ‘Vint. Or maybe it was one of the Qunari that just wouldn’t leave the city last summer, I don’t know anymore. Point being, I could hear Bartrand’s voice in my head when I got the offer from Dorian, and frankly, I can still hear it now, even louder. Might be because I’m going crazy, or maybe it’s this heat. We’re two days into this dig and already I’m inclined to keel over and die. Why I chose a field where most of the work happens outside, I’ll never know.

Mother did want me to be a doctor.

Pentaghast continues to do her best to rectify the damage between us. I think the problem is all a matter of perspective. She sees a crack in the steps it would take to walk to one another – I see a canyon. Shit, she doesn’t even know what she does to people. She’s more leg than anything else, drives me so damn crazy with the talking, the _constant_ talking. And the strange thing is I can’t mind it much. I remember before we met, everyone kept telling me she was a pistol, too much vitriol and all that nonsense. Didn’t understand it at the time. We don’t get on, that much is true, but damn if she isn’t trying now. Makes me sort of regret kicking her out of my house, but not by much.

Pavus proves to be a good patron, and an involved one. I don’t care for the tourist bit much, but he plays it well. Doesn’t interfere with work, and he’s mostly there to watch Cassandra’s Qunari work, though I have it on good authority he’s involved with a Marcher, an army fellow studying medicine, or maybe law. I get the two mixed up – those Marcher kids are always either one or the other. Or dancers, it seems.

My own crew is loyal enough. They’re in it for the money, but I know if we get anymore thieves up in here, they’ll be gone, and I’ll be high and dry, digging on my own. I don’t expect them to last the summer. Probably why they asked for half the money upfront. Pity I don’t have any damn foresight on that shit. I always think everyone’s going to give me their best, don’t I? Eventually I’ll learn to take that disappointment to heart and do something about it. Hawke always says I’m too much of a pushover. Probably would have made a shit doctor. Medical kind.

Rivaini says they’re heading back. Got the letter this morning. Too much ice up north, her ship’s not strong enough. The money from this dig should get us a nice steel boat, and we’ll take it up there when we’ve got everyone together.

I’ll write it for posterity, to give myself hope and maybe a little something to look forward to at the end of the summer – we’re going to find Hawke, and Merrill. We’re going to find them both, and bring them home.

And then I’m going to wring their fucking necks.


	5. The Red Thieves, excerpt one

_The following is an excerpt from **The Red Thieves** , a novel by Lady Josephine Montilyet-Rutherford, based on her travels with her husband and partner, Dr. Cullen S. Rutherford._

 

* * *

 

If my husband were in charge of all the transportation of Thedas – and it is, of course, his secret ambition to be someday, impossibly or not – we would all travel by train. Cullen adores the train, and insists we ride it whenever the chance is presented to us. The weather is inconsequential, as are my feelings on the matter, most of the time. I, personally, do not share his affection for the rail. It jostles and rattles my bones, until I feel as though I might fall to pieces when we are finally in the station. But, considering he has kindly, and most likely calculatedly, deferred to my judgment on most things in our marriage thus far, I often consent to his preferred method of travel.

It was how we made our way that summer to the estate of Dorian Pavus. Our relationship with the man is rather complicated – in short, it can all be explained by simply saying, “Money,” and leaving it at that. More extensively, my brother, Antoine, won a scholarship from the Pavus family some years ago. My father, falling in that season and being unable to accompany him, assigned me to go in his stead. I met Dorian Pavus on site, and we grew to be quite companionable. He was dashing, sophisticated, and precisely the sort of man my mother would have longed for me to marry, though his preferences certainly prevented that. At the time, I had no intention to partake in the tradition myself, until three years later, when I met my dear husband at the same place.

Because our honeymoon had been delayed, we had lost our chances to see many of the blooms I longed for in the Antivan countryside. Cullen had been forced, so soon after our wedding, to bury his dear parents, and the mood for travel was dampened. It was a letter from Dorian, having heard of our circumstances, that lifted the veil. And, so, we set out in May – on a train of course – and made our way to the Pavus estate just outside of Minrathous.

Dorian was there to meet us at the station, and he was as handsome as I did remember.

“ _Dorian!_ ” I cried, stepping onto the platform and throwing myself at him. “Oh, you are too kind to come and fetch us yourself. Have you brought the car?”

“I have. It’s beautiful, you’ll adore it. Ah, Dr. Rutherford! It’s a pleasure to see you again.” He took Cullen’s hand and shook it warmly.

Cullen smiled. “Are they here?”

“Gets right to business, doesn’t he?”

I sighed, adjusting my hat and looking between them both. “He’s very excited to see them.”

“Varric will be furious,” my husband said joyfully. “And I haven’t seen Dr. Pentaghast in almost two years. I suspect she’ll also be displeased.”

Dorian shook his head. “On the contrary.” He gestured for them to follow, indicating their bags would come along after them. “She’s quite excited about your arrival. Once I told her your wife was a fan of the study, she had no objections.”

“Nor do I,” I said happily. “We cannot thank you enough, Dorian.”

“My dear, thank me no more. I am happy to accommodate you. I will say that Varric is concerned you’ll overrun the entire site,” he added, glancing at Cullen.

To his credit, my husband only laughed a little before he finally said, “Varric _detests_ sharing. I can hardly believe he stayed after he found out he’d be digging with Pentaghast, of _all_ people.”

“They’re…working it out.”

“Oh?” I looked over at him. I had, of course, heard of the now infamous feud between the archaeologists. Antoine was a horrid gossip monger, and he scooped any chance he could to find something to say about his peers. He had written to Cullen in extensive detail about the supposed meeting between the two in Val Royeux, and how Cassandra Pentaghast had been thrown, bodily, from Varric’s home in the city and onto the street. I explained this story to Dorian, who chuckled.

“It wasn’t like that,” Cullen said quickly. “Your brother—”

“Yes, yes,” I said quickly. “But it _is_ rather exciting, isn’t it? Two people, alike in temperament and in goal, feuding over the same spot. Are they getting along?”

Dorian did not answer right away, so I assumed he was trying to find the exact words to describe the relationship. Cullen turned to me in the front seat, thoroughly amused by the entire ordeal.

“Things _were_ going just fine,” he said. “We had a minor theft, nothing to worry about. They began digging and had their crews on opposite sides of the site, to efficiently meet in the middle. And then, one day, his team accused hers of stealing their supplies.”

Cullen nodded. “Of course.”

“He’s never worked with them before, so they didn’t even think to go to him, really.” Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose as he turned up to drive leading to the house. “Varric heard the shouting straight away, and it’s so _bloody_ hot. The man’s mood swings back and forth with the temperature. Cassandra sent his men back to her side, told them not to bother her with the nonsense again, and then Varric came over and found his canteen on her table. After that…”

“All this over a _canteen_?” I asked. They sounded more like children than archaeologists. I could scarcely believe it.

“It certainly didn’t _help_ ,” he said. “But she’s been pestering him about these papers, something his old friend Hawke left him.”

Cullen grunted. “It’s what she wanted in Val Royeaux. She’s persistent, I’ll give her that.”

“She thinks there must be something in there about where he might be. He’s gone off with another of their friends as well, didn’t you know?”

“I didn’t,” Cullen said. “I had heard it was only him.”

“A girl named Merrill. Nobody seems to know her. Cassandra hadn’t a clue about her either. Then, Varric stormed off the site a few days ago, and when he came back in the morning he had drawn a line. Told her to keep to her side, and he’d keep to his.”

“Like children,” I said, finally voicing my private sentiments aloud. “Well. This should be…interesting, to say the least.”

My husband burst into laughter yet again.

 

* * *

 

As was typical of Dorian then, and still is to this day, he was a superb host. Our rooms were in a portion of the third floor, adjoining one of his many libraries, and with stairs descending into the gardens. It was a perfect place to finally celebrate our marriage, and we did so almost immediately, causing us to be severely late for our lunch. Dorian did not seem to mind. He was reading a letter at the table in the dining room, frowning and looking rather constipated as we entered.

“Is everything alright?” I inquired, taking the chair Cullen had pulled out for me. “You look unhappy.”

“I am,” he said simply. “But it’s momentary. Nothing I can’t take care of.” He folded his napkin into his lap, and I wondered to myself if the letter had anything to do with the gentleman he had told me about the last time we’d met – a Trevelyan from Ostwick with a knack for trouble and breaking hearts. However, I did not press the issue. Instead –

“Where are your other guests?”

“Digging,” he said. “We’ll visit them after we eat. I assume you’d like to? They were doing better yesterday. He actually responded when she spoke to him, according to her Qunari.”

“She’s still using Bull?”

“Oh, yes. He’s…marvelous. Anyway, I should think they’ll get over this little spat in due time. There’s nothing like the arrival of mutual friends to perhaps calm a raging sea?”

We finished eating and made our way to the stables. Dorian had an impressive collection of mounts, many of whom he raced professionally in the winter, via jockey and bookie. “I never go to the things myself,” he said, as we mounted. “I detest the smell.”

As we rode, we could see the site in the distance, growing closer with each trot. The unmistakable horns of a Qunari were visible, even from a distance, and the sound of laughter could certainly be heard. _Perhaps_ , I thought, _things were not as bad as Dorian thought._

About this, though, I was certainly wrong.

When we approached things were suddenly very quiet. I did not see Dr. Tethras or Dr. Pentaghast, not until they both emerged from a tent, she holding out a map of the site, and he a charcoal pencil.

“You have drawn it _wrong_ ,” she declared, and pointed at the spot where a young man stood. “Look, see here? This wall is clearly facing _west_ , and the door is facing _east._ You have drawn it the opposite way.”

“You’re _holding_ it wrong,” he snapped, and tried to wrench the paper from her grasp. “ _Dammit_ , Pentaghast, you’re not making any sense.”

“Are you _blind_ , Varric? You are the one who drew the compass, here, in the corner. I am not holding it wrong, you are simply incorrect.” And with that final word on the matter, she turned on her heel and strode back into the tent, ignoring the lot of us. I felt the sturdy hands of my husband about my waist and allowed him to lower me down from my horse. A cloud of dirt rose up to meet me, and I relished in its scent.

Varric finally seemed to notice our arrival, and he turned, lips parting in a broad grin, completely changing his face. “Curly,” he said, affectionately, and approached Cullen. “Good to see you. It’s been to long.”

“It has,” Cullen said, and shook hands with the dwarf. “Might I introduce my wife? Josephine, this is Dr. Varric Tethras.”

“A pleasure,” I said, and allowed him to take my hand.

“You’re a vision,” he said smoothly. “Too pretty for this one. Tell me about your work, how’s your family?”

Cullen shook his head. “I’m afraid we lost mother,” he said. “And father.”

Varric frowned. “I hadn’t heard. I’m sorry.”

“Just after the wedding though, so they got to see that. Our last winter back home was dreadful. I may convince the entire family to move closer to Josephine’s. It’s far milder.” He looked around. “Are you waging war then, still?”

Varric’s face completely changed. The expression resembled something closer to absolute _disgust_ when he finally spoke. “She’s a _menace_ ,” he said. “I can’t shake her.”

“Because I am working alongside you.” Cassandra Pentaghast came out of the tent, brushing the dirt from her hands onto her pants and coming closer. “Ignore him. He will be in a better mood when the sun goes down.” Varric gave her space, nearly losing his footing and falling into one of the deeper holes on the site.

I had been told by some people that Dr. Pentaghast was ugly – tall, coltish, awkward and _loud_ , she was a poor example to most women everywhere, but in particular to those who wished to join her profession. Cullen had never truly described her to me, but had said she was ambitious, worked hard, and cared little for what others thought. About her beauty, he had had nothing to say. She was lovely, with dark hair that was cropped short, a thin, pointed nose that accented her high cheekbones, and olive skin made browner by the sun. She wore weathered riding boots and a set of tan, well-worn brown trousers, and a light blue men’s shirt that rounded out the whole ensemble. She was something out of a book I had owned as a girl, it seemed, and I nearly sat at her feet right then and there, and pleaded with her to tell me a tale.

“You are Josephine Montilyet?” she asked.

“Montilyet-Rutherford,” I said. She smiled. “I am terribly happy to meet you, Dr. Pentaghast.”

“The feeling is mutual. I’m sorry you must witness our disagreement, but there will be many in the future, so I suppose you must grow accustomed to it.” She threw a quick, withering glance at Varric, who looked as though he really did want to fall into a hole. “The sun will set soon,” she noted. “I suppose we should begin cleaning.”

“I’d like to inspect the site,” my husband said. “If you don’t mind?”

Varric brightened. “I’ll give you a tour.” If there was still a line down the middle of the thing, it appeared to have vanished. The two moved freely over the site, pausing to look at some inscriptions on the wall while Cassandra directed the two crews to begin cleaning. She joined in the effort herself. I hung back, searching for Dorian.

He had pulled the letter out of his pocket again, and was looking over it once more.

I decided not to bother him, and instead went to assist Dr. Pentaghast in the effort.

“Lady Josephine, that is not—”

“I’ve been on digs for several years now, Dr. Pentaghast. I know where the shovels go.”

Someone grunted behind me. “Careful with those. Some are booby-trapped.” The Qunari stood behind us, casting a shadow longer than two of me put together. He looked frightening, but his face was softened by his smile. “Someone tried to steal from us. The Iron Bull,” he added, and shook my hand, leaving my feeling rather like I’d just gotten off the train all over again.

“Someone _did_ steal from us,” a young man said.

“Thank you, Krem.” The Qunari sighed, taking the shovel from my hand. “Dorian put up a few wards.”

“He… _oh!_ ” I had forgotten, in my haze of wedding planning, marriage, funerals, and travel, that my friend was also a mage. He used his magic around me so little that the thought hardly ever occurred to me. But, from what I understood, he was quite talented, as most from Tevinter were in the art, and so I said, “I am sure no one will bother you again.”

Krem shrugged. “We’ll see.”

“Krem’s not so convinced.”

“And what of you?” I asked. “Do you doubt Ser Pavus’s abilities?”

The Iron Bull gave a hearty chuckle, and tossed the shovel into the shed. “Nah,” he said, and gave me another smile. It was incredibly disarming. “It’s not him I worry about. It’s everyone else I don’t trust.”

 


	6. The Compromise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look, i've returned to this! i'm returning to a lot of dragon age WIP's as summer continues on. a lot of things happened, but mostly zootopia happened. i'm now reaching a place where i can get back to balancing multiple ships, which makes me happy.

Cassandra was not sure where things had gone so wrong. Varric’s accusation that she was obsessed with Hawke’s papers was not true, but not entirely _untrue_ either. She certainly wished to see them, and a great deal. She had asked only twice – once when he seemed to be in a rather good mood (though not for long, as the request immediately set him off and he did not speak to her for several hours), and once when it was quite hot and she certainly should have _known better._

No one had ever said she did.

Josephine’s question to her their second night at the estate was a simple one to answer, but Cassandra found herself wondering and _wondering._

_Is everything alright?_

“Cassandra?”

“Hmm?”

Josephine smiled. “You do not have to answer. I only wondered—”

“It’s fine,” Cassandra said, and took a sip of her wine. “I believe I asked the wrong question at the wrong time. And his crew is not quite under his control. They come and go sometimes as they please. There have been several days when some don’t show up at all. It has not made things _better_ between us, certainly.”

Josephine nodded. “I am sure.”

“It hardly matters. I have worked under less desirable conditions.”

“Oh?”

Cassandra sighed. “ _Most_ conditions are undesirable, as a woman in this field. I…have few friends.”

Her voice must have carried to the opposite side of the table, where she heard Varric snort derisively. Both women turned to stare at him, and he turned the noise into a cough and said, “Down the wrong tube.”

Early the next morning, Cassandra woke to a message from Josephine, asking if she might accompany her and her team on the dig that day. Cullen and Dorian had plans to drive into town, and take a look at a car Cullen was not interested in buying, but Dorian was certain he could convince him.

“He is not as well acquainted with my husband as he is with me,” she said with a smile as they walked to the stables. “Cullen detests cars. He prefers trains.”

“I agree with him.”

“Dorian has motor fever. Has he shown you his collection. It’s quite impressive.” She swung herself up onto her horse and gave the mare a firm pat on the neck. “Almost as impressive as these creatures.”

Together, they rode to the site. The sun was hardly up, and Cassandra could not quite see the figures standing around in a circle. She certainly spotted Bull, but the other were clumped together in the dark of the morning still untouched by sunrise. As they approached, she realized they were gathered around a person – a rather inert, possibly _dead_ person.

“What is happening here?” Cassandra jumped from her horse and ran over. Varric looked at her.

“He tried to open the shed. Grabbed the wrong shovel.”

“Is he—” On cue, the man _gurgled,_ and sat up. With a jolt, Cassandra realized he was one of Varric’s men, and took a small step back. Varric seemed to have known this from the start. With a groan, he reached down and lifted the man by the scruff of the neck, shaking him violently.

“Do you have any _damned_ sense?”

“I wasn’t stealing, I swear!” The man’s voice was shrill and pleading. Varric narrowed his eyes.

“I wasn’t accusing you of _that._ I was accusing you of being an idiot, but if you’d like to own up to something else—”

Another of the crew stepped forward, gingerly prying Varric’s hand from the man’s collar and giving him a smile. He reminded Cassandra of a snake – she had hardly noticed him, but she knew from the start that he was the leader of Varric’s crew.

“No one has stolen anything, or tried to. It is unfortunate that accusations are flying, certainly, but you’ve nothing to worry about. I asked the men to open up early. They _were_ supposed to understand which of the shovels were wards and which were not. It is his own fault, and if you’d like, Dr. Tethras, we can dismiss him immediately.”

Varric sighed, shaking his head. “Forget it. Just keep him away from the shed. If anyone needs a review of the shovels that you _shouldn’t be touching_ , just ask. Idiots,” he grumbled, and walked away. Cassandra followed.

“You do not think it’s odd? That one of your men should forget so quickly which—”

“Of course I think it’s _odd!_ ” he snapped, turning on his heel to face her. “But what am I supposed to do, accuse them _all_ of stealing? I’m already working with a skeleton crew, Pentaghast. I don’t need to alienate them.”

“Well you’d hardly need help,” she muttered, watching him march toward one of the newer spots on the site. With a sigh, she turned and went to find Bull. The Qunari was entertaining Josephine with some story or another, but stopped when he saw Dorian’s car approaching. Cullen looked sheepish, and Dorian looked to be bargaining.

“Doesn’t seem like the ‘Vint was successful.”

“I’ve told him,” Josephine said, sighing. “I’ve told everyone. Cullen prefers trains.”

 

* * *

 

As the day wore on, the newlyweds eventually abandoned them, and Dorian, too. The sun was too hot, and there was nothing of interest for Cullen to stare at for hours on end.

“We’re on our _honeymoon_ ,” Josephine had insisted, and they shared a horse back to the estate. It was all rather idyllic, Cassandra noted to herself. Two lovers, bonded under the watchful gaze of Andraste, riding horseback under the afternoon sun. _Blessed_ , she thought, and turned back to her current project.

She had discovered an odd shape in the ground, and was attempting to carefully uncover it. There were, she suspected, several yards of packed dirt underneath her, but she had a certain suspicion about what she had found. Namely, that it may be the top of a helmet. It could mean several things, but part of her hoped that it shared some slight connection with the elvish burial sites she’d read about earlier in the year. Elven sentries had been sacrificed to guard priests and priestesses in the afterlife, or so it was suspected. While contemporary elves did not subscribed to any sort of belief system such as those, very little was known about their supposed _Old Gods_ , and even less about the way their societies functioned.

It would be an exciting connection to make, perhaps bridging two ancient cultures and customs. Cassandra felt giddy at the prospect, and continued working. After an hour or so, she had Krem come along and work at the edge, and the two began to dig. Eventually, of course, Varric noticed.

“What’ve you found, Pentaghast?”

“Currently? Something unknown. But I have some thoughts.”

He grunted. “Care to share with the group?”

“Certainly.” She continued to dig. They were beginning to make progress. “My main suspicion is that we may have uncovered a kind of sentry, guarding a tomb.”

“You read that article.”

“ _Yes_ , I read that article, Varric. It is not too much for me to try and make connections?”

He shrugged as she looked at him. “There’s no evidence the ancient elves and the empire ever had any contact.”

“Perhaps this will be it.”

“And perhaps it won’t.”

Cassandra sighed. “Perhaps it won’t,” she agreed. “There is no reason for you be so contrary, Varric. I am simply speculating. I will be pleased with whatever we find here, whether it is aligned with my theory or not.”

“Of course.” He turned and left the two of them to their digging.

Krem looked up, his hair falling over his eyes. “He certainly enjoys an argument, doesn’t he?”

“Ignore him,” Cassandra insisted. “We are getting close to something.”

Bull sidled up next to them, gesturing toward their little moat surrounding the mound of dirt. “Are you going to build an ant hill or something, boss?”

“I am going to dig this out, and then I am going to find what’s buried here.”

Krem swore. “I hit something. But…not _this_ something. I think it’s…the same kind of something?”

“That’s a lot of somethings,” Bull said.

“Well when _you_ think of a name for whatever this is, _you_ let _me_ know, right?”

Cassandra threw her shovel to the side. “Go do something else,” she told them. “I need room. And _silence_ ,” she added.

Bull chuckled. “Sure. I’ll make sure Tethras gives you some space, then.”

“Please,” she murmured, spreading her tools and beginning to chip away at the dirt.

Despite what she suspected were Bull’s clever machinations, Varric eventually found his way to her, observing silently as Cassandra slowly uncovered her prize.

“That’s a body,” he finally said.

Cassandra leaned back. She smiled. “Yes. It certainly is.”

 

* * *

 

A few more hours and some well applied work from the two crews uncovered four more bodies, entombed standing up, wearing matching armor. It took precision and caution to move the first – the rest would need to remain, both out of respect and under Tevinter law. Any bodies discovered on any property, public or private, were to be inspected by a member of their own Chantry and either reburied, or dug up and transported.

Dorian was ecstatic.

“We _found_ something! Oh, that’s wonderful, and we’ve just started. I cannot tell you how pleased I am. Look at you, working together.”

Varric shrugged. “Pentaghast found the body. I just watched.”

Cassandra raised a brow. “I appreciate the proper credit.”

“Didn’t want you throwing a fit,” he said, and finished off his wine. They were all seated around the dinner table – Cullen and Josephine were in their own world, and Dorian was rapidly being pulled away from Cassandra and Varric’s end of the table. Or perhaps repelled – Varric’s tone was not quite scathing, but far from accommodating. Cassandra sighed.

“It won’t matter. We’re sharing it all in the end.”

“Yes,” Varric said dryly. “I can only imagine what sort of pain that causes you.”

She pressed her lips together, but said nothing. Varric refilled his glass, and effectively put a wall between them.

Cassandra excused herself early, and spent the evening reading in bed.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, though, something was not quite right.

Varric was shouting. Well, Varric often shouted, but it was usually indistinct, or at himself or someone much less _aware_ than he. This shouting was directed at the man who led his crew. His name, Cassandra didn’t know. _Snake_ , again, popped into her head. A snake with perhaps two heads. She had seen a carving of one at the museum in Val Royeaux.

“—in my life been _abandoned_ by a crew at the start of a dig!”

“This is a season of firsts for you, isn’t it, Dr. Tethras?”

“You were paid in advance, considerably _more_ than I’ve paid anyone else—”

“Because you’ve been working with Dr. Hawke your entire career, and your partnership seems to come built in with a group of people who will put everything on the line for you both. But I cannot. Another one of my men has been injured, and _that_ is a cost I can no longer incur.”

Bull stood on the fringes of the argument, and turned to Cassandra as she approached.

“This is a mutiny?” she asked.

“Seems like it. Terrible thing,” he added. “One of his boys fell into a hole. Says he got _bit_ by something. He’s green enough, I suppose.” Bull gestured toward a group of the men off to the side, who were clucking and nursing a rather sickly member of the crew. “Now they’re saying this place is cursed. Old Empire bullshit, something like that. Said something about _Corypheus_ —”

“A myth!” Varric shouted, now, rounding on the two of them. “Corypheus is a _myth_ , Hawke and I sorted that out ages ago.” He turned back to the Snake. For a dwarf, Cassandra noted, he could make himself rather large when he needed to. “You’ll be _staying_. And you’ll get _rid_ of anymore of these Corypheus stories.”

“We’re leaving,” the Snake said. He made a singular motion, and all of his men stood at once, carrying their injured comrade on their shoulders.

Varric _spit._

 

* * *

 

It was not entirely clear to Cassandra what had happened, or what had _been_ happening. According to Krem, the other crew had been wary from the beginning. They were all ‘Vints, born and raised, but had always dug away from home. Their leader was not from Tevinter, but had been with his crew for some time. They worked on the fly, according to rumor, and but usually stuck with a project through to the end. This, according to more rumor, would be their first walk-off.

“It is incredibly unprofessional.”

“Varric’s a desperate guy. His professional opinion doesn’t matter to them right now,” Bull noted. “They’ll get work. Everyone he knows probably thought this was going to happen. Touchy dwarf like him, working with a new crew? Not a good match.”

Cassandra shrugged. They had taken a break for lunch. Varric was making notes, writing letters. He had announced he was moving past this morning’s debacle, but had no real plan. Cassandra gave Bull a meaningful glance, and he nodded.

“Seems right, boss.”

“Seems right,” she agreed, and stood to cross the site.

Varric did not look up when she approached, but said quietly, “I really don’t want to do this with you right now, Pentaghast.”

“I am not here to argue.” He glanced up, giving her a weak smile.

“Yeah? Going to spare me the incessant nagging today?”

“I’ll chalk your poor sportsmanship up to disappointment. I’m here to offer you the assistance of my crew.”

Varric frowned. “Why?”

“Because you are not abandoning this dig, and you will not find anyone better. Bull and his Chargers—”

“ _Chargers._ Maker’s _balls_ , I always wondered what they called themselves—”

“—are professional and dedicated. We’ll divide up the work, and we’ll continue through the summer. You cannot _quit_ , Varric. You need the money.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I do.”

“Good. It is settled then.”

“Hang on,” he growled. “I haven’t agreed.”

Cassandra snorted. “You haven’t the luxury to _disagree_ , Varric. Don’t be a child about it. We have work to do.”

 

* * *

 

Bull’s crew were good workers. Cassandra had built up a trust with them, and they had often told her she was the only person they wanted to work with. Indeed, all of her digs over the last year and a half had been with them, and Bull was a trusted friend and advisor. If he’d not agreed to the arrangement, Cassandra wouldn’t have thought on it a second longer.

“It’ll work,” he said.

“I don’t doubt your men. I doubt…him.”

“Tethras will follow through. He’s on edge right now, but once he settles into a rhythm, you won’t even notice the change.”

He was right, of course. Bull was always right about these things. Varric worked very well with the Chargers, probably because their chemistry reminded him of his usual crew. He looked nostalgic, often, and his demeanor toward Cassandra had softened in the days after his own men had left.

“This was a good idea,” he admitted.

“I’m glad you think so.”

“Oh-ho! Not going to gloat?”

Cassandra sighed. “I’ve no reason to, Varric. I could not have you abandoning the site. And I know what finding Hawke means to you,” she added, then frowned. “You are digging to far in.”

“I think I found something, though. An entrance, maybe. Hear that wind?”

“I do,” she said. “But we should wait and allow Krem to brace the dirt. If it falls—”

“It isn’t going to give, Pentaghast, stop worrying.”

This was, of course, precisely when it _did_ give.

Cassandra predicted a great wall of _dirt._ The rock to the head was a bit unexpected.


	7. Multiple Entries, Summer, 9:41 Dragon

_The Kirkwall Museum of Natural History and Science does proudly present, for your reading pleasure, the complete, unabridged journals of Dr. Varric Tethras._

 

* * *

 

Summer Journal, Thirtieth of May, 9:41 Dragon

Hawke always tells me I think people are too good. I think people will be better. I’ve written a lot about my crew staying with me because I wanted it to happen, I wanted it more than anything. It’s been a few days since they left, and I’m still thinking they might come back. That maybe they’ll remember their contract, but it won’t matter. Nothing really matters much, not anymore. Just finishing this dig with all my limbs intact, and the money I’m owed. And hopefully not getting my partner killed.

Pentaghast is healing fine. Took a nasty rock to the head. Pushed me out of the way, but she doesn’t remember that part. She kept telling me my tunnel wasn’t stable, but I thought the dirt above was sturdier than it turned out to be. We’re lucky we weren’t buried face first in the ground. We’re lucky she was quick. We’re lucky she’s not actually trying to kill me. Dorian keeps going on about foul play. Sturdiest dirt in Thedas, he keeps calling it. Like Tevinter’s got some monopoly on decent soil, or something. Bull carried her out, though. He’s talking about the same thing.

People stealing from us, my crew leaving, rumors about Corypheus – Hawke and I found his supposed tomb a while back, sort of an accident. We weren’t supposed to be digging in Tevinter, but they appreciated the find. Asked us to leave politely and not speak about it. We agreed just because neither of us would ever survive prison, not here anyway. But Corypheus as a magister, as the head of an old family – not a shred of evidence for it. The tomb was empty, and the only thing we found that told us it might be the tomb of a fictional magister were some notes left by an explorer who’d abandoned the site years ago.

He’s not real, and I won’t talk about it anymore, even with myself. Everyone’s just approaching that edge – what happened to ~~Cassan~~ Pentaghast wasn’t foul play, it was just me being an idiot. I’ve gone to see her twice, but she’s always with the Qunari. There could be something there, but I’m not sure why I wouldn’t have noticed it before. I tossed the idea around with the Rutherfords last night, but they laughed it off. She’s a professional, and the Qunari is a friend. That’s all. Don’t know why I keep thinking on it, or why the idea of them…does something. Maybe it’s because I miss Hawke, and the crew. I envy their closeness. Maybe it’s something else.

Not willing to touch that, tonight.

Pentaghast has assured me I’ve got no blame in this. Doesn’t stop me from feeling lousy about it.

 

* * *

 

Summer Journal, Second of June, 9:41 Dragon

The Tevinter Chantry has declined to come out and inspect the bodies. Their official recommendation is that we actually stop digging entirely, but since it’s all happening on private property, that’s all they can really do. Dorian said they made some vaguely threatening statements – who knows what will happen, who knows what you’ll find. He’s acting like he isn’t unnerved by it all, but I know he’s doubled the wards. Whole place sort of tingles when you walk across a certain point.

Pentaghast is back in action, but Dorian’s hovering. He’s no medic, not like that Stitches the Chargers have – she keeps her in fresh bandages, but the wound is healing. Makes me feel…strange, every time I see it. Should stop feeling that way. Should move on. Made a mistake, won’t let it get to me.

For some reason I keep hearing Hawke’s voice. I miss him, right now. I miss him a lot.

He’d like Pentaghast. Already did, before he disappeared. He didn’t really meet her, but she’s exactly his type of woman. Always right, always thinking she’s right, too smart and too driven for her own good. According to some. I think she’s the right amount of smart, the right amount of driven – she’s as clever as, if not more than, Hawke. Could take him in a fight I’d bet. Probably why he liked her.

The nonsense with the Chantry aside, everything’s gone forward according to plan. We’re not rushing things, we’re playing it safe, and the wards appear to be working, if anything’s tried to cross our path. Dorian hovers still, but it’s not so bad. It’s less about the Qunari, I think. More about what we’re finding on his land.

I quizzed him, too, about Pentaghast and Bull. Said the same thing Josephine said. Said what I had been thinking – why are you asking, why do you care, what’s going on Varric?

Nothing. Nothing is going on. I am fine. Everything is fine.

It’s so damn hot here.

 

* * *

 

Summer Journal, Sixth of June, 9:41 Dragon

I’m sick as a dog. Came down with something nasty last night, haven’t been out of bed. It’s a Sunday, thank the damn Maker. We don’t dig Sundays. Pentaghast and the Rutherfords hold a private prayer session in the house, since the Chantry up here wouldn’t quite cut it. Asked them to say one for me. I think I might be dying.

 

* * *

 

Summer Journal, Seventh of June, 9:41 Dragon

[a series of incoherent scribblings, followed by –]

_It’s in the damn heat. I swear it’s the heat._


End file.
